


The Pharaoh's Scroll

by Jade56



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Bottom Sherlock, Established Relationship, Historical, M/M, Pharaoh Sherlock, Romance, Secret Marriage, Sexual Content, Sherlock Secret Santa, Soulmates, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade56/pseuds/Jade56
Summary: Sherlock, almighty pharaoh of Egypt, married a strong, handsome priest named John in a secret ceremony. The night that follows should be a happy one, and yet Sherlock cannot help but worry about their future together, in this life and beyond.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlainJane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainJane/gifts).



> This is my Sherlock Secret Santa gift for PlainJane. I decided to write something for your "soulmates" request but it ended up working for your "historical" request too. :) I hope you enjoy it, PlainJane! Happy Holidays!!!

When most people thought of Sherlock, they probably imagined the pharaoh sitting proudly on his throne in the great hall, wearing a pleated kilt, ornate headdress and gold amulet, deciding the fates of all Egyptians with a wave of his ornamented staff. Perhaps they also thought of the divine king’s eyes, lined with black pigment and decorated with a green shadow, looking from one supplicant to the next with godly wisdom and judgment.

It was doubtful that many of them would imagine Sherlock as he was now, open and vulnerable before an ordinary man—though this particular man was hardly ordinary to Sherlock.

“John, yes, p-please…”

“Just a moment more, Sherlock.”

Sherlock was on his hands and knees, in a position he had never assumed for anyone in his life, except for the captivating man who was with him now. Wearing nothing at all, Sherlock was trembling, though not from cold.

John, his dear John, the person who loved Sherlock for who he was, who valued him for all his strengths and his shortcomings, was kneeling behind him. Like Sherlock, John was not wearing any clothes. He was steadier than Sherlock, however, probably because he was a man of fortitude and self-control. With small, even strokes of his oiled fingers, he prepared Sherlock gradually.

Fortitude and self-control were not among Sherlock’s strong points. He whimpered with need when John pushed a third finger into him. “I’m ready, John, take me now!”

“Almost, Sherlock.” There was a deep, shuddering breath from John. “Damn, I can’t believe I’m really doing this…”

There was something like fear in John’s voice, and it startled Sherlock. He turned his head back to glance at John, though he didn’t move much more than that, not wishing to hinder John in his task.

Still, he could see John’s handsome face; like nearly all Egyptians, John had lined his eyes with black pigment, though they were not more decorated than that; his skin was darker than Sherlock’s, reflecting time spent outside; his broad shoulders and arms showed that he was no stranger to physical exertion. It was his eyes that arrested Sherlock, though, as they seemed to be looking away, anxiously.

“John, why shouldn’t you believe what’s happening? We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

“I know… But I get to see you so rarely… I’m afraid you’ll leave at any moment, that you’ll have something more important to do.”

It pained Sherlock that he had often been kept away from John in the past, but all kingly duties had been firmly set aside for the sake of this special day. “I’m right here, John, I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here and I will stay here all night.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Thanks, Sherlock.”

“Now please, if you don’t mind, would you keep going!”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course.” Again, John’s fingers slid into Sherlock, making him writhe from the pleasant sensations that teased him for what was to come. “You’re so gorgeous. Is this good?”

“Yes, thank you…” Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to better experience John’s touch inside him. He hated the duties that kept him away from John far too often.

“Are you ready, Sherlock?”

Sherlock loved how considerate John was for him; well, usually he did. At the moment, he could only think of how much he needed John. “I’ve _been_ ready!”

“I, um, all right.”

There was too much hesitation in that answer for Sherlock. He wanted John with a deep passion, but only if that passion was returned. “Wait, don’t you want this, John?”

“Well, this is silly for me to even admit this, especially now that we do have time together, but I’m not sure I’ll be any good for a god on his wedding night.”

“You, not any good?” The idea was so absurd to Sherlock that he snorted in disbelief. “Not possible! John, you’re the one I want. It’s just us here, it’s just us. I don’t care what you are, and it doesn’t matter what I am. You fill my heart and you fill my mind, so please fill the rest of me too!” Shaking, Sherlock urged, “I need you, John!”

“Oh, I need you too, Sherlock. I’ll do my best for you.” John took his position behind Sherlock and, at last, entered him gently, with a long groan. “Oh, Sherlock…”

Intense relief shot through Sherlock, and it felt magnificent, though it also made him long for more. “John, John, John…”

“Is this all right?”

“Oh, yes, John, keep going, John, harder!”

“Damn, you feel so good.” It was incredible when John thrust into Sherlock again, and then another time. His husband—how wonderful, that John was now his husband!—had used oil very thoroughly in preparing Sherlock, so every movement was easy and exhilarating.

“Oh, John!” Sherlock cried, clutching the bed under him. Really, how could John ever doubt he was good enough? “John, just there!”

“Sherlock,” John murmured, his voice low and fond. Strong hands grasped Sherlock’s hips with a firmness that was absolutely perfect. John’s hold on Sherlock was comforting and affectionate as he plunged into Sherlock, filling him with ecstasy with every passionate thrust.

It was a fact that the two of them had shared this bed before, and yet this time felt different. This was the night of their wedding. The ceremony had been a secret one, seen before the eyes of the divine and not before mortals. Regardless, being wedded to his beloved priest meant so much to Sherlock, and he hoped that it held meaning for John too.

The future loomed ominously in the distance before Sherlock, who knew that pharaohs were simply not meant to marry common men, but whatever happened, he and John had exchanged vows of loyalty and devotion, and that was what mattered now.

“Sherlock, love, you’re wonderful.” Rocking steadily, John moaned, and Sherlock was so captivated by that sound that he hardly heard the urgency of his own breaths.

So much of John was filling him, joining with him, and yet it wasn’t enough. “Oh, yes, John, more, please, harder…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

John’s voice was soothing, as if it carried all the healing power that the priest possessed. Being a servant of some small, local god of healing, John knew much about treating illnesses and helping people feel better. It seemed that all of John’s curative ability was now in his rough voice, his soothing hands, and his generous body, which eased Sherlock’s worries and brought him to a state of bliss.

“I’ve got you, Sherlock, oh, you’re so incredible.” Each word was truly a balm for Sherlock’s besotted soul, invigorating his heart in the spiritual and physical realms.

As a priest of a minor god—Sherlock couldn’t remember which god, not that he cared much—John did not have the prestige held by the clergy of major deities, and certainly John was not close in that respect to the king, who was nothing less than divine, being a child of the sun. However, Sherlock knew nobody who could match the depth of John’s knowledge in healing, and certainly, no being in this world or the underworld could match the healer’s unselfish, determined spirit.

That unselfish, determined spirit was now making love to the pharaoh, reducing him to little more than whimpers and moans of pleasure.

“John, o-oh!” Sherlock’s voice was breaking now. He was reaching his peak under John’s care. “Oh, oh, John!”

“Good, Sherlock,” John breathed, and the roughness of it showed that he too was nearing his end. “Oh, you’re so good, you’re doing so well…”

Hearing such sincere praise from his beloved, Sherlock felt like he was flying, a sensation that mixed beautifully with the heat that surged all through his body and spirit. Sherlock was rarely affected by praise anymore; many people gave it too freely to Sherlock, such that their words were worth little. Whenever John praised him, though, every word sunk deep to Sherlock’s heart, the seat of his soul.

“John, I’m a-about to… I can’t…”

“It’s all right, Sherlock. Do it for me.” The heavy ache between Sherlock’s legs was firmly stroked by a strong hand.

Sherlock’s world filled with stars; he must have made some indecent manner of noise, and yet all he could hear was the strong, rough voice of his husband, coaxing his soul through bliss as John continued to satisfy Sherlock’s body with his own.

Before he met John, the king would never have believed that he would let himself be so vulnerable before any ordinary person. Sherlock was a god among his people; he was the divine intermediary between major deities and mortal worshippers. Though Sherlock was not the equal of the most powerful gods, he someday would be, when the king assumed his place in heaven, in that part of the underworld where gods lived and ruled.

However, in John’s company, Sherlock was not a great king. He could speak freely of his doubts, he could talk about his feelings, and incredibly, he could trust John to keep his confidence. Sherlock didn’t need the trappings of his position, either. There was no need for an ornate headdress. He could leave the crook and flail behind. It would have been absurd to wear the ceremonial false beard around John.

With John alone, Sherlock felt free to enjoy himself, to trust his body and heart to another person. Sherlock wished that he could always have the gift of John’s company, for all time, but he knew that was not possible.

Despite this, the elation that John had drawn from him seemed to be never-ending, and this everlasting feeling was redoubled when he heard John grunt and felt the hot essence of his husband warm his body.

John groaned as he emptied himself, continuing his thrusts all the while. “Sherlock…”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock whispered, with encouragement, and gratitude.

He had good reason to be grateful. By all accounts, he could only marry a woman of a royal bloodline. It was a miracle that the gods had not interfered with this secret wedding, or the evening that followed. Perhaps they knew that the relationship would only ever remain a secret.

Sherlock’s thankfulness grew larger in his breast as he collapsed onto the bed with John, who held onto him and breathed with him as they both came down from the euphoria they had shared.

Sherlock was grateful for every moment he had with John. This had been true ever since they first met, in the temple where John gave regular offerings to whatever local god it was that he served. The priest, who seemed humble at first glance, yet revealed hidden depths when he kept his pride in the king’s presence, had fascinated the pharaoh. John displayed all due respect to the pharaoh, of course, yet he did not cower or grovel before Sherlock. He was honest and forthright while still being respectful and considerate, which was unusual.

It had also not escaped the pharaoh’s notice that this man was unusually tanned and athletic for a priest. This made the priest all the more interesting to Sherlock, and certainly did not make him unattractive. Sherlock had observed these physical characteristics in a rather objective way, or so he managed to convince himself, until he had heard John’s amused, charming laugh, and saw him smile with faith at the statue of the god, and then, it was impossible to ignore his feelings for John. At times, it was almost painful to look at the handsome man.

Nobody other than priests and the pharaoh was allowed in the room of the temple where the statue of John’s god was kept, and many times, this meant that Sherlock’s attendants had to wait outside, while John and Sherlock were left alone to perform certain ceremonies. After first meeting John, Sherlock had made sure to visit that specific temple very often, so that he performed as many of his rituals as possible in John’s company.

These rituals, while intriguing to many, had long ago grown dull to Sherlock. They varied very little from day to day. However, they were much more interesting when conducted in front of John, who was impressed by the speeches that Sherlock had committed to memory, and by the studious eye with which Sherlock judged offerings to the gods.

Over time, he had spent more and more time alone with John, and had permitted himself to speak more casually with the priest. He had learned that John liked to write about Sherlock’s ceremonies, that the healer sometimes left the city to see to the health of soldiers, in the army, and that John was as curious about the pharaoh’s life as Sherlock was about John’s.

After they finished performing religious ceremonies, they would talk to each other about their lives and hopes, and with every shared thought and feeling, they became closer. It had all culminated in a dazzling moment when, after they had finished a series of prayers, Sherlock had kissed John on the cheek, and had met John’s eyes with a pleading gaze. John, smiling, had taken Sherlock in his arms, slowly pulled the taller man’s head down, and initiated a tender kiss on the lips, which was readily returned.

Right now, on this bed, John was smiling at him, like how he had smiled then. John had pulled a blanket over them, making sure that Sherlock was comfortable, as he often did. His black-lined eyes shined with reverence. It was the look one might give to something sacred.

Sherlock shyly smiled. “If ever I doubted that I was a god,” he whispered, “I would only need to look at you, when you look at me like that, to be reassured.”

Dotingly, John touched Sherlock’s face. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, John.” Sherlock wondered if their love would be enough to keep them together, even though they held such different positions in the social order. “Is that enough, do you think?”

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“Was it a good idea for us to be married, John?”

John’s hand stopped. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“Oh, no, of course not. Marrying you is the greatest thing I have ever done.” For someone who held physical and spiritual dominion over the land, and made decisions that decided the fate of the country, this was no small statement, yet Sherlock felt it wholeheartedly. “I was a decent enough god, before you came along, but you make me a better man.”

“I don’t do anything like that,” John said, with a grin. He had resumed touching Sherlock’s cheek, which Sherlock enjoyed very much. “Well, maybe I help bring out the best in you.”

“I will concede that,” Sherlock answered, with a smile of his own.

“Then, what is bothering you?”

Sherlock’s smile slowly fell. “I will need to do certain things in the future, John.”

“Yeah?”

“I will need to attend ceremonies, to make important decisions, to settle disputes.”

“Well, yes, but don’t you already do all that?”

“Yes, John. You won’t be there by my side, though, as the consort of a monarch should be.”

“Oh, yeah. I wish I could be there for you.” After a moment of hesitation, John spoke again. “But we’ll be together in private, right?”

“Yes, there is that, at least,” Sherlock said, appreciatively. “You are my husband, and I know that, even if nobody else does. There’s more, though. All of those duties, I will have to continue performing for a long time, in this life, and,” he added, solemnly, “in the afterlife.”

John’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the turn in subject. Then, the man took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re thinking about the afterlife.”

“Shouldn’t I?” As all of Sherlock’s people knew, the afterlife was a very real and important part of existence to prepare for.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t, I just… well, we just got married. I didn’t consider thinking about that so soon. It seems so far off.”

“But when it comes, it will be for eternity. Besides, preparations for my afterlife are to begin soon.” It was common knowledge that arrangements for the king’s afterlife had to be started long before the king’s death. Tombs needed to be excavated, the sarcophagus had to be built, and a number of other considerations had to be dealt with.

Indeed, John was not surprised. “I’ve heard of pharaohs who spent their whole lives planning for it.”

“That is often how it is. There are already plans to hire a scribe to write my scroll.” A person of means would generally have a scroll, a _Book of the Dead_ , which would be inscribed with spells that would guide their soul through the underworld, to paradise. This was especially true for a pharaoh, who was typically buried with an elaborate, detailed scroll for that purpose.

“Okay. Yeah. Well, you don’t have anything to be worried about, right? Pharaohs have nice afterlives, don’t they?”

“Not always.” Sherlock touched John’s hand, holding onto him while he still could. “Some surely do not make it past the hall of judgment after death, and so never reach paradise. Besides, it depends on how one views paradise. For pharaohs, heaven is said to be a place where gods live and rule over the underworld.”

“Seems good enough,” John remarked.

“But it will not be heaven for _me_ , John.” Sherlock sighed. “As ludicrous as it seems to me, I am a god. I can’t help it any more than you can help being human. Gods do one thing and humans do another. Gods go to one place, and humans go to another. Don’t you see, John? We won’t go to the same place after death. My place will be with the gods, and yours will be somewhere else.”

“Oh.” Now John was holding onto Sherlock’s hand in return. “We’ll be separated in the afterlife?”

“Indeed, the social order is as strict in the underworld as it is here,” Sherlock said, “if not more so. Because of what I am, I will have to rule the place. Oh, I can think of nothing more boring, John!” Frustrated, Sherlock shut his eyes. “You know what heaven is made of, don’t you? Nothing but fields of reeds! Unchanging and eternal and utterly tiresome!” He opened his eyes, and saw the compassionate gaze of his cherished husband looking back at him. “But I would tolerate it, John, if I had could share a field with you, and we could grow crops together, or whatever it is the ordinary people do in the underworld, but that is not what gods do in heaven.”

“I see. We’ll never see each other.”

“Yes,” Sherlock mumbled, mournfully.

“Sherlock,” John said in a soft, reassuring tone, “it’ll be okay.”

Shaking his head, Sherlock muttered, “I won’t go through with the arrangements, John. There will be no scroll. Then I won’t make it to paradise. I’ll be eaten by some demon instead before I reach the hall of judgment, or I’ll make it there and be judged unworthy, and _then_ be eaten by some demon. That would be better than living forever without you.” The firm hand around Sherlock’s held him more steadily, but it wasn’t enough. Sherlock shook with desperation. “Oh, I wish I were not a god!”

“Wait, Sherlock. Maybe it doesn't have to be like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, but… well, I’m sure we can think of something. Is there another option? Maybe just… not go to the underworld?”

Where else would a soul go? Sherlock had been taught that all Egyptians were destined to someday depart to the underworld. This was true a thousand years prior, when the great pyramids had been built, and it would surely be true a thousand years from now.

The only alternative Sherlock could think of was to keep their spirits bound to their bodies, but that was not really an option.

“We can’t live forever,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Well, maybe we could go somewhere else, avoid the underworld altogether. Can you think of any other place a soul without a body could go?”

“To another body, I suppose.” Abruptly, Sherlock sat upright on the bed. “That’s it! John, you’re a genius!”

“Oh?”

“Another body! Rebirth, John! Reincarnation, yes, don’t some cultures speak of such a thing? It can be done. I know how we could do it. I could have spells written on papyrus that would guide both of us to find each other in another life, and again after that, and so on. I would be buried with that text, so it will always lead us to each other. Yes, my _Book of the Dead_ will do exactly that! Ah, that’s perfect! Then, as decreed by the pharaoh’s scroll,” Sherlock proclaimed, in triumph, “you and I will be soulmates.”

John blinked, stunned. “That would work?”

“Of course it would! We would live new lives in this world, this magnificent place where gods can live with men, and never would we have to live apart in that dreadful underworld.” Calming down from his burst of enthusiasm, Sherlock leaned back on the bed. “But there is a problem with my plan.” He clutched the blanket, becoming more nervous as he considered this problem. “While I am certain that I would fall in love with you again if only given the chance, it may be arrogant of me to think that you would develop feelings for me a second time.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” Reaching for Sherlock’s shoulder, John caressed him there, which relaxed Sherlock somewhat. “Like I said, I love you. You’re so beautiful, and brilliant, and I know I would want to be with you again.”

Sherlock felt hot and pleasant feelings when John said things like that, even if Sherlock didn’t entirely believe it. “That is generous of you to say.”

“I mean it, love.” John moved onto his elbow, and regarded all of Sherlock, admiration plain on his face. In a gentle and unhurried way, he pushed the blanket back slightly, so he could see more of Sherlock. Blushing, Sherlock looked down, and was stunned to see that his ache had renewed itself, or perhaps it had come back to life under John’s gaze.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, trying to hide himself with the blanket.

“Don’t be sorry,” John murmured. “Want me to help you with that?”

Sherlock could feel his heart start to beat faster. “Yes, please, John, if you want to.”

John moved down the bed; at first, Sherlock feared that John was leaving, but that fear was soon put to rest. Propping himself up over Sherlock’s lower half, John made an incredibly tempting image, especially when he licked his lips.

“You are my paradise,” Sherlock said, though immediately regretted it. It was awfully sentimental, surely too overemotional for John…

“I can’t believe you’re saying that to me,” John said, but he said it with joy, not pity. “I’m the luckiest man in Egypt.” He lightly touched Sherlock’s hips, and his mouth drew closer. “Can I take you like this, Sherlock?”

“Yes, yes! I’m all yours, John.”

With great care, John grasped Sherlock’s ache, causing Sherlock to push instinctively into John’s hand. In no hurry, John stroked Sherlock, making that part of Sherlock heavier and hotter.

“Oh, John…“

“You’re gorgeous, Sherlock. Would you like an eternity of this? Of us, doing whatever we like together?”

“Oh, yes, yes!”

“Me too.” Still holding Sherlock’s length with one hand, John sealed his mouth around it, closing his eyes and humming softly.

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered. Each euphoric sensation was intensified by the knowledge of what awaited him for eternity. He would lead new, fascinating lives, and always he would find John, and John would find him. They would fall in love with each other, all over again.

It was difficult for Sherlock to tell what thrilled him more, the way that John hummed and sucked him, relieving Sherlock of tension as only John could, or the words that John whispered when he paused to catch his breath, the way he spoke of the eternity that they would share.

A number of arrangements would have to be made. The pharaoh would have to commission his particular scroll privately, and make sure that nobody found out about Sherlock’s wish to blatantly defy sacred tradition. Furthermore, the necessary spells would have to be worked out, and that task alone would present a number of puzzles for him to solve.

In any case, all of that could wait. For now, Sherlock could enjoy having what he had wanted for so long—a loving relationship with John, his partner, and husband, and soulmate.

There would be challenges to overcome in this life, and no doubt there would be still more after that; Sherlock was eager to face them all with John at his side.

End~


End file.
